


Hot for Teacher

by draculard



Category: Recess (Cartoon), The Simpsons
Genre: Age Difference, Body Swap, Crack, Depression, F/M, Reincarnation, Sexual Punishment, Spanking, Suicide, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 09:11:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18340610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: One of Moe's countless suicide attempts finally succeeds, but he isn't quite gone.He wakes up in the body of a boy named Randall Weems.





	Hot for Teacher

It’s time for Moe Szyslak to die, for real this time.

The noose is around his neck, with the other end tied to a beam on the bridge. The shotgun is resting with its barrel against his forehead, a string tied around the trigger so Moe can pull it without contorting himself into any weird, undignified positions. One hour ago, he took an entire bottle of Benadryl, and it’s definitely kicking in.

His plan is simple:

Pull the trigger, most likely die of gunshot wound to the head.

If not, the force of the gunshot will send him backward over the bridge anyway. Death by hanging.

If the rope breaks, he falls into the river and almost definitely dies from impact.

If he doesn’t die from impact, the Benadryl will send him softly to sleep and he’ll drown.

It’s foolproof. Nothing can stop him now —

Except the ringing of his cell phone in his pocket.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Moe mutters. He digs the phone out and checks the caller ID; he doesn’t recognize the number. Rolling his eyes, he presses the answer button and holds it to his ear.

“Moe Szyslak,” he says.

“Hi,” says a dreaded, all-too-familiar voice. “I’m looking for Ligma?”

Moe sighs into the receiver and presses ‘end call’ without answering. What a fine way to end his life — with a prank call. He feels one last sliver of hope he didn’t even know he had dying away.

He pulls the trigger.

* * *

“Hey, man, you okay?”

Moe groans; his head is killing him, and so is neck, and he feels like he needs to sleep for a year. Slowly, he opens his eyes and is momentarily blinded by the sun. Someone leans over him — a boy in a backward baseball cap, his eyes wide with concern.

“That kickball knocked you out _hard_ , man,” the boy says. “You alright?”

“Kickball?” Moe says. His voice sounds off _—_ higher than it has been since he was a kid. Suddenly he remembers everything; the noose, the pills, the shotgun. How is he still alive?

And where the hell is he?

A bell rings, splitting Moe’s head open into a brilliant headache. He squeezes his eyes shut and feels the boy with the backward baseball cap tugging him into a sitting position.

“Recess is over, dude. Let’s go.”

Moe pulls his arms free with a groan and covers his eyes. He hears the boy hurrying away, sneakers slapping against the concrete. When he finally opens his eyes again, he finds himself alone in an empty playground. It’s the middle of the day; the sun is high and sweltering.

He looks down at himself — gone is his stained bartending apron, but his blue shirt and grey slacks are still there. He examines his arms and legs, which seem … well, smaller than before, and there’s no hair on them at all. Something about the color of his skin seems off, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

Befuddled, Moe stands and looks around him. Behind him stands an ominous building, with a sign over the door reading _Third Street School_. He’s never heard of such a school in Springfield. Moe turns around, looking at all the unfamiliar houses across the street.

What should he do? Where should he go? Indecision leaves him paralyzed, unable to take a single step in any direction. He bites his lip and wrings his hand. He wishes he had his shotgun with him — if nothing else, it would comfort him to stroke the barrel as he thought things through.

“ _RANDALL J. WEEMS!_ ”

Moe jumps at the sudden shout that breaks the still air. He whirls around on the spot, eyes wide. He’s no longer alone on the playground; a woman stands at the entrance to the school, her hands on her hips, her shoulders hunched, a sharp-toothed sneer on her lips.

Is she talking to him? She must be; there’s no one else here. Hesitantly, Moe takes a step toward her, then quickens his pace. As he gets closer, his eyes only get wider; this woman, whoever she is, is the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. She wears a modest yellow dress covered in red diamonds that hugs her curves perfectly, making Moe’s mouth water. Her hair is bunched up tight, blue-white curls, her lush red lips pursed in a scowl, her eyes masked by fashionable glasses on a fake-pearl string. Her breasts sag deliciously over the waist of her dress.

She takes Moe’s breath away. He comes to a stop before her and stares up at her in awe — for she’s taller than him, much taller.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Randall,” she says, looking down her pointed nose at him. Her voice is like birdsong — sweet and lilting and seductive. “That’ll be detention for you after school today. Now come inside, you’re late for class.”

Moe follows her silently, like a puppy following its master. He couldn’t speak if he tried; his throat is dry, his stomach fluttering and full of butterflies.

She leads him down the hall to a classroom filled with children and silently gestures for him to take a seat. Moe does so, confused but eager to please. As he looks around, he realizes he’s no taller than any of the children here — in fact, he’s shorter than several of them.

What on Earth has he gotten himself into, he wonders. Is this reincarnation? A second chance at life?

He didn’t think he wanted a second chance, but as he watches the beautiful, two-hundred-pound woman approach the blackboard, he begins to think that maybe he was wrong.

* * *

Her name is Ms. Finster, he learns. Muriel Finster, the most beautiful name he’s ever heard. He finds it hard to pay attention; her voice is like a lullaby to him, her name repeating like a chorus of angels in his mind. She reprimands him three times for not paying attention, each time bringing a yardstick down hard on his knuckles.

Moe has always treasured pain. By the second time she does it, he’s already hard. He slips a book off his desk and places it in his lap, hiding his erection and also giving him a source of pressure, of delicious friction. By the third time she slaps his hand, he can barely choke back a moan.

The question of who he is and what he’s doing here quickly becomes irrelevant. Ms. Finster calls him Randall; if that’s what she wants him to be, he’ll answer to it. He’ll do anything for her.

Time slips by too fast. The bell rings, and when the other children start packing up their things and racing for the door, Moe looks around in bewilderment. His eyes find the clock; it’s three p.m. already! His gaze drops down to Ms. Finster and his heart stops in his chest when he realizes she’s already staring at him with a cruel smile on her lips.

A smile that just makes his dick even harder.

“Detention, Randall,” Ms. Finster says. Her smile grows wider. “You’re mine for the next hour.”

Hers.

Moe can’t help but smile back at her. How long has it been since he smiled? He truthfully can’t recall; he must have been a child the last time this happened. His expression makes Ms. Finster’s eyebrows furrow and her smile slip away — but she’s just as beautiful when she’s frowning.

“How will you punish me?” Moe asks. His voice is high and breathy. Ms. Finster’s expression flickers, showing a hint of uncertainty.

“Randall,” she says tentatively, “what do you mean by that?”

He stands, walking around his desk to approach her, keeping the book in front of his crotch so she doesn’t see his arousal. His head goes up no farther than her stomach, meaning he’s the perfect height to bury his face in her soft, pendulous breasts. Without answering her, he wraps his arm around his waist — or as far around as he can reach — and does exactly that.

“Randall!” Ms. Finster gasps, but she doesn’t push him away. Instead, she briefly returns his embrace, one large hand cupping the back of his head. Then she whispers to him, “Close the door.”

She’s right, of course. It wouldn’t do to be seen. Moe hurries over to the open classroom door and shuts it; the window on it is frosted, so no one can see in.

Hurrying back to Ms. Finster, he can’t keep a smile off his face. Ms. Finster stares at him consideringly, her lips downturned and her eyebrows furrowed. She chews the inside of her cheek as she thinks.

“You want to be punished?” she asks eventually.

Eagerly, Moe nods. His face is flushed and he’s trembling with excitement. Ms. Finster hesitates a moment, then she suddenly grabs his shoulder, pushing him toward her desk. She turns him around so his back is to her. She pulls the book from his hands and says,

“Pull down your trousers, Randall.”

Breathless with excitement, Moe obeys. He undoes the button at the front of his slacks and slips them down to his ankles. His hands are on the waistband of his tightie-whities, eager to pull them down, too, but Ms. Finster stops him by grabbing his wrists and putting his hands flat on the desk.

“Brace yourself,” she says. “You’ve been a very bad boy today, Randall.”

And then, with no warning, pain explodes over his ass; she’s whacked him with the textbook. Moe yelps, pressing closer to the desk in a flinch. Then pain gives way to pleasure and he wiggles his hips, craving more.

She spanks him again and again, slamming the book against his ass cheeks until he’s writhing against the desk, unable to decide whether he wants to escape or lean into it for more. After the tenth spank, Ms. Finster pauses, out of breath. She observes Moe for a moment; his red face, his heaving chest, his cock straining at the front of his underpants.

“Take them off,” she whispers.

She doesn’t need to specify what. Moe shucks his underwear to the ground, exposing his cherry-red bottom for all the world to see. He hears Ms. Finster gasp at the sight of it and looks over his shoulder to see her blushing like a schoolgirl.

“It’s … it’s so red,” Ms. Finster says bashfully. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Moe breathes. “Yes, of course. It feels good.”

This seems to give her the determination she needs. She raises the textbook and spanks him again, and now the pain is ten times worse. Moe cries out, jerking his hips against the desk. His cock is free now, and it’s tinier than he remembers it being in his old body, but it’s erect and pink and flush against the wood of the desk.

She spanks him again and Moe bites his lip, trying not to cry out again. A groan escapes him; without thinking, he puts an arm behind him to stop her, but she grabs him by the wrist and pins him back against the desk and spanks him again, harder than before.

“This will teach you not to be late for class,” she says. The next slap against his backside is so hard that Moe sees stars; the whole world dissolves around him, leaving a white-hot light, like the sun has wormed its way behind his eyelids. He feels her spank him again, but the feeling is muted, like it’s happening through a thick layer of fog; every sensation is consumed by a fire that spreads through his limbs and down to his cock.

He spasms against the desk, moaning as he cums. Ms. Finster pulls away; her cheeks are flushed and she’s breathing hard, and as he comes back to his senses, Moe can smell her arousal. She touches herself through her yellow dress, eyes meeting his, sultry and alluring.

Moe licks his lips. If nothing else, his suicide has resulted in one good thing, no matter how confusing it may be. He’s Randall J. Weems now, with the most beautiful woman at his side and ready to dominate him.

He reaches for her.

It’s his turn to please.


End file.
